Muggle Lover.
"Roddy, for fucks sake, can you stop with the griping. The contract stipulated that the 'entire' consignment has to arrive in Lisbon by 10 am this morning. If the remainder is not there within the next forty five minutes then we can kiss goodbye to that invoice. All I need you to do for me is to get a hazard team down to Lisbon and find a suitable delivery point. Hargreaves has already arranged portkeys through various wizarding locations. You need to find me an uninhabited sector large enough for six heavy goods vehicles. Don't give me that look. Go do your bloody job or I'll find someone with less of an authority problem."
The young blonde looked suitably chastised as he mumbled his apologies and backed out of the office. Miss. Langthier scowled at him, not bothering to disguise her contempt of the upstart who always seemed to be talking back to Mr. Weasley. She caught the door before it rebounded completely into the frame and entered the room without knocking, she was the only one allowed to do so.
"Ah, Hilary, my dear, I couldn't trouble you for some coffee could I? I'd ask one of the office girls, but as you're here, could you pass on the request?"
"Of course Mr. Weasley. I'll call for it right away. In the meantime Sir, you have a visitor. The gentleman claims that he is your former Headmaster, a Mr. Dumbledore. He doesn't have an appointment."
Ron's eyebrows shot up his head in amazement. What on earth would Dumbledore want with him; he was hardly likely to require the services of Griffin Fleet Management and Haulage. For a moment, old habits kicked in and he wondered what had happened to Harry now. It only lasted a second. After all, he had spoken to Harry yesterday about the transport of a large shipment of invisibility cloaks and Harry had been worried about nothing beyond the security of such a valuable and profitable delivery.
"Professor Dumbledore doesn't need an appointment to see me Hilary. Please show him in and add some lemon tea to that order would you."
"Of course Mr Weasley." Hilary Langthier turned to return to her own office, which staunchly guarded the entrance to her employer's domain. The man she was about to retrieve was already making his way past her. Her hackles rose but she felt rather disappointed in herself when a bright smile and a friendly pat on the hand from the old man made all her objections to his behaviour disappear.
"Thank-you my dear. Good morning Mr. Weasley. I apologise for intruding during business hours, but your housekeeper assured me that it was safer than trying to catch you at home."
The redhead chuckled and indicated a chair, into which the old man sank, his eyes roaming over the former Gryffindor, filing away information. This one might not be so easy. What was that muggle phrase? Workaholic? Yes, that was it. Ronald certainly appeared to be dedicated to his work. Now, how to get him to give it all up for a broomstick?
Ronald was contemplating how odd it felt to have his former Headmaster on the other side of the desk, his desk. Many a man had sat where Albus Dumbledore now sat, to be praised, promoted, chastised, fired, bawled out or probed for misconduct. Last time he and Dumbledore had faced each other across a desk, it had been the Headmaster's desk and Ron was being informed that the Burrow had been destroyed, thankfully without any loss of life and he would be returning to Ministry funded accommodation until the question of insurance was resolved. Now, it was his desk and he was richer than the Malfoys and had personally signed for the insurance on the smallholding he had given to his parents for Christmas after his business began to prove its success. Odd was an understatement; it was somehow humbling to be reminded of his place in regard to people who didn't work for him.
"Professor Dumbledore. This is a surprise. It's good to see you Sir. That is assuming that you haven't come to tell me to watch out for dark rats in the warehouse because I assure you, my warehouse workers make sure that they are all neon pink and silver accessories would not go unnoticed by the fashion victims I employ."
Dumbledore chuckled, at the ice breaker and at the wonder of growing up. In his desired appointments, he had barely considered that these people had grown up and now here he was faced with a confident successful wealthy adult, where he had half expected the nervous teenager who thought he was undervalued.
"I have no doubt that you keep tight control of all aspects of your business. You have made quite a name for yourself Ronald and a fortune too, I hear. Your mother seemed to be overjoyed with the home that you provided when I last spoke with her. They chose to remain there, did they not, after Arthur was appointed Minister? Turning down the Back-Downing Street residence was quite a shocker. It served a purpose though, to illustrate that the focus should be upon family not upon technicalities."
Ron smiled, "Actually Mum refused to move. She met the Prime Minister and his wife at Dad's induction ceremony; the woman pissed her off so badly that she swore she couldn't live next to, hmm, let me see if I can quote this correctly, I won't get Mum's cadence but 'that cold callous leech of a woman. She didn't even breastfeed. How can a woman not even feed her own children properly? She's got four of them and she's never home to see them. It's no wonder that poor boy turned to drugs, it's a wonder she remembers their names. Off all over the world, talking, writing, practicing law, hob-nobbing with foreign diplomats. If she could ever wipe that sneer off her face for long enough to see what's underneath she'd have a heart attack, assuming her heart hasn't calcified through disuse. Horror of a woman. No Arthur, we will stay here.'"
Ron smirked and smiled at the office girl as she set their drinks down on the desk.
"Thank-you Aimee. That'll be all."
The door closed behind the girl with a thlock sound as the automated silencing wards reasserted themselves. Ron handed over the lemon tea and sat back, sipping his coffee and appraising the old man before him. A move that somewhat startled the Professor. Grown up was an understatement.
"What can I do for you Professor? I don't imagine that this is merely an impromptu social call. Something to do with the bigger better Hogwarts perhaps?"
Dumbledore started, almost spilling his tea.
"How...?"
Ron laughed, a deep guffaw that reverberated around the walls of the office.
"Haulage. I kind of have the corner on the delivering stuff market. Reliable, secure, prompt et cetera. I delivered the stone. A ruddy great lot of the stuff that was far too large a load for a simple rebuild. Don't worry. We have a reputation for being secure for a reason; I haven't mentioned it to anyone. So, where do I come in?"
Dumbledore was nonplussed. Fazed out of his plan, he saw that only bluntness was going to make any headway here. Though the man seemed too firmly entrenched in his business for it make a difference. Still, while he had a chance at his dream staff, he would keep on at it.
"Actually Ronald, I was hoping that I could persuade you to come and teach. As you observed, we have expanded the school considerably and added a Primary section. We need more than double the number of Professors that we had before. I have just visited with Rolanda Hooch; she has been coaching a formation flying squad but quite happily accepted one of the Quidditch and Flying Professorships. I would be honoured if you would accept the other."
Ronald Weasley frowned. He liked to be able to predict the moves others were going to make. He wasn't incapable of dealing with surprises but as the years went by and he predicted behaviour more and more accurately, he found that he became out of practice with improvising.
"Me? Why on earth would you want 'me' to teach flying? Don't get me wrong, I still love Quidditch but I barely get a chance to hold a broom, let alone fly one."
It was now Dumbledore's turn to frown; he hadn't considered "rusty skills" either. His thinking ran along parallel lines to Ron's without either being aware of it. Dumbledore liked to be able to predict other people's behaviour, relied on it just as much as Ron did and was wrong even less infrequently than the other man.
Ron took his silence for what it was and continued.
"Look, I'm flattered and all but I really don't want to teach flying. I'm not a kid anymore, I have no professional experience of it and it's too far fetched from my reality to consider it. I will admit to you that I am bored with corporate life and have been grooming a manager."
Dumbledore was startled but didn't show it. The young man's dedication was obviously not coupled with the obsessiveness that he had believed. It was a dedication of choice not compulsion. Ron continued.
"I haven't really made any plans yet. I had a vague idea to go and visit everyone I know, travel the world a bit but nothing concrete. I figured that I would realise what my next enterprise would be when I saw it. I would certainly consider teaching, now that I am pushed to think about it, but I wouldn't teach flying. It's just not useful enough in the real world. Now, if you were looking for Muggle Studies Professors, then I might be able to help you."
That constituted an offer. Ron almost slapped himself in the head. Well, he had had three holidays this year already and the idea intrigued him. He wasn't usually that stupid. It wasn't a binding contract, not unless they shook on it, which he seemed to already be doing before he even realised it. Dumbledore had thanked him , wished him luck with his manager, told him that he's see him in a week and swept out the door before Ron recovered his senses enough to realise that he'd just entered into a verbal contract, damn, better check on Thurough's progress if he's taking over in a week.